Black Light
by JHodge
Summary: Mission Black Light is a revision of The Assault Please Read and Review. LRSD


Operation: Mameluke Sword  
Mission Black Light  
By: Judicator 0030hrs Airstrip in Western Armenia  
  
It took all but 25 minutes to reassemble the three helos and 2 minutes later they were airborne to their target in the Republic of Georgia. The three helicopters were flying blacked out except for the green tritium laced instrument panel, which glowed with the aid of night vision goggles. Chief Warrant Officer Bristole piloted the lead helo, Rook 3-7, trailing behind him were Rooks 3-5 and 3-6, which carried the brunt of the assault force- Knights 3 and 4 on their external benches.  
  
Gunnery Sergeant Tomas Cowboy Alvarez- the team leader of Knight 3 and Knight mission commander, fidgeted with his body armor and tactical-vest in an ill-fated attempt to ease the pain of the pinched flesh caught between its straps; while seated on the forward outboard spot on Rook 3-5 he mentally rehearsed the mission ahead of him, contemplated contingencies as well as escape and evasion options. His baklava was rolled up around the top of his head, just under his NVG mount (skull crusher), he could feel the cold air scrape across his face, cool enough to balance out the body heat underneath all of his gear. To the south he could see the distant fiery orange end product of coordinated artillery strikes against Georgian targets; military and/or civilian the Armenians could care less. The two countries were involved in a cross-border war for a little over three years and to either the Armenians or Georgians, a citizen of the other was a righteous target for murder.  
  
After committing itself to Operation Southern Thunder -a conflict involving the liberation of Buenos Aires and countering a rapidly blooming insurgency within the poor lower class within Argentina- in 2005 the United States was not eager to jump into another non-profitable conflict. But that all changed when the Georgian Navy began mining their waterways near international waters and in late 2007 an Osprey-class mine hunter ran into a patch of Georgian mines in international waters, yet a mere couple hundred meters off of the Georgian maritime border. But because the conflict was not a direct attack and was seen as an unfortunate accident within the international community, unconventional methods of dealing with the situation were initiated. The artillery bombardment was just one of those methods, which was under the supervision of an ODB from the 10th SFG.  
  
For the duration of the trip Alvarez had tuned the world out of his head, he had drifted off into that zone of semi-consciousness controlled by instinct and intuition, known throughout the Company as the Ranch- Cowboy's sweet spot. Lost in his surroundings, a burst of static followed by the flight leaders voice rushed through the FM frequency and into the left padded ear-cup of Alvarez's headset, "Gunny be advised, were 11 minutes out- of the city and that place is still well illuminated if we push on we'll be compromised, over." Alvarez replied in his best Donnie, "Fuugetabout it Chief, just get some."  
  
And as planned with no notice or clamor the ground ahead of them went black, as though consumed by a massive black hole. "Oh shit, I think somebody kinda fucked up down there," yapped Sergeant Peters over the LocalNet." Instead of the preplanned nine blacked out city blocks, the team from 1st SFODD nuked the whole town. The incident was so unexpected that it dissolved most of the premission anxiety, "Shit you know I'm gonna wanna hear that story," replied Alvarez. "Fookin A, Cowboy," continued Smith.  
  
The flight to the target was gauged at 30 minutes and the aerial convoy had been flying for 24 of them. After receiving the 2-minute warning, Alvarez adjusted his modular PASGT helmet, flipped down and engaged his monocular NVG as the rest of the assault force made last minute equipment checks. Chief Bristole, carrying an observation/sniper team, broke away from the formation slipping into an over watch position, circling the target building as Rooks 3-5 and 3-6 continued the one-minute flight to the roof of the target building.  
  
Gunny Alvarez applied pressure to his radios press-to-talk button, "Knight 3-Lead to all Knight elements, stand-by for insert."  
  
Rook 3-5 decelerated and hovered for a mere few seconds, enough time for the operators of Knight 3 to step off the helicopters benches. The team fanned out taking up security on the rooftops four corners as Rook 3-6 flared and Knight 4 disembarked and proceeded to the roof-access door. Knight 4's team leader quietly articulated through the communication network, "In position, demo up." Knight 3 collapsed its perimeter from the four corners down to the access door as the demo-man from team 3 prepared a breaching charge designed to cut through the doors inner iron lock. The bare MH-6's took up a flight plan that would circle them around the target at a distance of 7 minutes. The Knight elements stacked up in anticipation of a dynamic entry, with the empty hand on the shoulder of the man in front of him, through the door that would lead them down a flight of stairs to their objective.  
  
"Knight 3-Lead to all Knight elements, I have control-stand by.  
Five.Four.Three.Two.Breach.Go! Go!"  
  
On the Go command Gunnery Sergeant Amos Kooch Kochavi and his assault team- Knight 4- led the offensive into the building and first through the door was Staff Sergeant McCormick taking the life of 2 guards who were disoriented by the initial breach and made their way down the stairwell of the prison, silenced M4 carbines at the ready. The four-story stonemason house was once upon a time a local government building, but now it housed political prisoners, prisoners of conflict, and the countrymen of other nations that could be used for future financial support. It was the latter, their own countrymen that the Marines were risking their lives for; three Marine officers taking hostage while spending a few days in the Castilian state of Barcelona on leave from Rota Naval Air Station. Now intelligence assets indicated that they were being held on the third floor of this dilapidated building normally guarded by a local constabulary force but due to the presence of high-risk individuals, the structures security had been augmented with a small force of Georgian paramilitaries.  
  
Team 4's first shooting pair split off on the 4th floor and entered the office space as the second pair moved down to the second floor thus isolating the primary assault team, Knight3 who was responsible for conducting the snatch on the third floor. The guards were taking by surprise by the foreign intruders as they tried to make sense of commotion on the roof, by the time they realized what was going on-180seconds past- Knight 3 began their assault of the target floor.  
  
With security established, Knight 3 restacked, mechanically breached the door leading to the holding cells and tossed several flash/bang grenades into the room. Following the detonation of the distraction devices, the team flowed into the hallway in their well-rehearsed room-entry maneuver and neutralized 5 guards recuperating from the distraction devices,  
  
"Clear," "Clear," "Clear," "Clear,"  
  
and began searching the cells for their charges.  
  
The mission commander chirped into his radios' boom, "Knight 4 gimme your stat." Knight 4's team leader was the first to respond, "This is 4-Lead, my location is secure with minor contacts encountered on my level, something's not right," followed by Staff Sergeant Aston, the teams assisting team leader (ATL) down on the second floor, "4-2 here, my location is secure except I think they've figured out what's going on and might attempt to counter-attack but I think we're cool for now." Satisfied with the teams status he ended the transmission, "Roger that."  
  
"Gunny we got a situation over here!" Without hesitation Alvarez turned 90 degrees to face the black and gray-clad operator crouched over a dirty motionless body. He took a knee by the operator and quietly questioned him, "So what Doc, is this one of our boys?" "'Fraid so. Looks like they beat the shit out of him, just massive cranial damage; see here and along the crown. Then bang - bang," the medically trained operator emulated a weapon pointed at the victims chest, " two in the chest, he was practically brain dead by then." He looked over to Alvarez who looked like he had already figured it out, "Yea looks like we just missed them by a couple hours Gunny."  
  
Petty Officer First Class Summers, the platoon Corpsman, withdrew several flex-cuffs from his tac-vest and was lashing together the hands and feet of the dead Marine officer in preparation for exfiltration, when a voice crowed from one of the corrupt-smelling cells. In his best broken English the prisoner revealed further insight about the incident, "They were taking them-moving to a new location, but there was a struggle, a f-fight, and they overpowered several guards but, but I know where the two are now, where they take them." The Gunny was not amused at all with what he was hearing, "Who are you?" "Shenya, Sergeant Shenya Harel," answered the captive. "Israeli?" "Yes, Shayetet 13, I've been imprisoned for a little over a year now."  
  
The Gunnery Sergeant stared at the Israeli for what seemed to be an eternity, taking mental notes of his filthy ragged appearance; long disastrous hair, grimy dirt covered black and blued skin, rag-tag torn clothing and horrid oral hygiene. He wondered if this man was a decoy, providing disinformation on behalf of his captors or was he truly who he said he was. He knew S'13 and other IDF special mission units very well, as MAGTFSOG and the IDF enjoyed a healthy friendship, if he were a fraud nobody would miss him. The mission leader turned to two of his team members, "Prep his ass for exfil."  
  
"Wow- hey now, I didn't sign up for this shit," rasped Sergeant Smith, the team demolition specialist, in a hushed voice as he placed a small demolition charge on the cells lock. "Move away from the door" he said to the prisoner while he popped the electric firing fuse. With a soft bang and a small cloud of smoke the cell door creaked opened, followed by "Ok, keep facing the wall with your hands on your head I want you to slowly back the fuck up to me." Smith and Sergeant Peters kept their weapons trained on the prisoners' back, "Now stop and lay down with your hands stretched out." Smith slung his weapon across his back and kneeled down next to the Israeli and began to search him for weapons, "He moves you'd better fookin put two in his head," he remarked to Peters.  
  
"It's getting pretty hot down here 3-Lead," announced Staff Sergeant Aston from his position on the second floor. "Roger that. We're nearly done, just keep it cool." Gunny Kochavi then joined Alvarez on the third floor, "What's up Cowboy?" Pointing to the dead Marine in response, "Yea, he's ready to go upstairs, Kooch." Nodding in acknowledgment, "Who the fuck is that?" "Apparently he's Sergeant Shenya, one of your frog buddies from S'13." "Well we shall see, let's get the Lieutenant moving Doc." The leader of team 3 turned to Smith and Peters and frustratingly looked at his timepiece; they were 140 seconds behind schedule "What the fuck is taking so long?" "Nada, he's ready to go-cuffed and blindfolded like you like 'em Gunny," witted Smith.  
  
"Ok Smith take him up to the 4th floor, Peters give Rook the go ahead." Peters unhooked the handset from his vest and applied pressure to the PTT button with his thumb, "Rook elements, extract is a go, I repeat green light for extract, over," after receiving confirmation Peters outstretched a thumbs up to his team leader and replaced the handset. The duo moved up to the assembly point on the 4th floor near the base of the last flight of stairs to roof; at the top of the stairwell, PO1 Summers and Gunnery Sergeant Kochavi kept watch through the black-starlit morning, followed by McCormick and Smith in the middle of the stairwell, "4-2 pull back to the third floor" ordered Alvarez through the LocalNet. Several seconds later two loud concussions reverberated up through the stairwell, catching some of the operators off guard. "Status, 4-2!" "Cool it 3-Lead, we just fucked them up a little." "Right, lets get a perimeter up on the LZ guys." Kochavi, Smith, and Doc setup a hasty security zone, scouring the area from left to right through the green backdrop of their NVGs.  
  
Alvarez reached back and unhooked the handset from his communications specialist, "Knight3-Lead to Rook3-Lead, what's your ETA, over?" "Rook- Element is 4 mikes out, over." "Peters switch me over to Frequency Baker9er." The 24 year old complied pulling out a small black palm-sized flip-open touch pad and punched in the new frequency for the UHF/VHF radio. "You're good to go." "Knight 3-Lead to Bishop 030, over." "Go ahead 3- Lead." "Package in play 4 minutes, come back, over." "Bishop 030 confirms package in play 4 mikes." 3-Lead passed the handset back to Peters, "switch back over to the helos," and just as he swung his body back into position a barrage of small arms fire raked the rooftop sending the operators into full throttle. They snapped into a well-rehearsed immediate action drill as the security team poured 5.62mm at the assailants one rooftop away and found cover.  
  
Alvarez rushed up to Staff Sergeant McCormick, who had advanced to the doorframe and each returned a magazine of ammo across the black night. The mission leader turned his head back to his radio operator, "Get the helos back on the horn and tell them to bust ass down here, ASAP," and maneuvered forward to the repositioned security element as McCormick moved from suppressive fire to selective targeting. "Knight 3 to Rook 3-7, we are pinned down, receiving heavy fire from a building to our 7 o'clock, requesting immediate support over." "Roger that Knight 3, I'm 90 seconds out and 3-5 and 3-6 are 2 mikes out." Noticing the recent addition Smith couldn't contain himself, "Now this Gunny, is the SHIT I signed up for." "So what's it looking like" questioned Alvarez as he ignored his subordinate. "A cluster-fuck of assholes with automatic weapons, on higher ground with about a 5 foot brick and concrete wall keeping them alive" contested Kochavi. "Well that's just some awesome shit guys," replied Alvarez.  
  
The team had found refuge behind a poorly constructed 7 foot wide smokestack; and at its very edge on the right side, Doc Summers had gone prone exposing very little of himself in hopes of teaching some of these dumb King Joe Hot Shit simpletons a lesson on effective combat medicine, "Don't you just piss yourself when you realize you didn't THINK you were gonna need some fooking 40 mike-mike." "Yea, ain't life a bitch Doc," replied Smith on the left side of the smokestack. Gunnery Sergeant Alvarez realized that his charges were becoming a little too comfortable with the situation. As he contemplated verbalizing some wisdom, Rook 3-7 came on station parallel with the enemy position giving Staff Sergeant Espinoza the freedom he needed to work his heavy MSG-90 from the left external bench of the MH-6.  
  
Alvarez pressured his PTT and announced over the LocalNet, "3rd floor pull back to 4th and get ready to move the packages onto the helo." With the birds back in range he merely tuned in the right frequency into his FM radio, "Rook3-7 this is Knight3-Lead, were ready to get the fuck out, lets run extract option 3." "Roger that." Rook 3-7 was originally configured to be the package bird - the lightest helo with only a sniper for fire support and space for what would have been the three captive Marines, but things changed. Now instead of it conducting the first pickup, it would be the last out, replaced by rook 3-6.  
  
Aston and Singer hustled up to the assembly and linked up with Smith, "Are they still pissed at you guys," asked Peters. "Well, those 2 frags earlier kinda taught 'em a lesson to keep the fuck away, not as many paras as we were expecting," replied Aston, "and so we got a puddle jumper to catch so you and Singer grab the officer and join McCormick at the top and I'll move with the Israeli."  
  
Espinoza nodded his head and waved a peace offering to Chief Bristole when he learned of the call for supporting fire. A seven-year FOG in the Corps with his last 2 in the RTI -Reconnaissance and Target Interdiction- Team, Espinoza was looking forward to putting the rifle to work. Before going over to the Dark Side (MAGTFSOG or commonly referred to as the Group), he was a thriving team leader within a STA -Surveillance and Target Acquisition- platoon assigned to 7th Marines and they hardly conducted aerial escort operations, these were the kind of high-speed low-drag missions he had been anticipating. As the Little Bird approached the target area, he could feel it throttle down and turn to the left exposing the firefight ahead and below them, "OK Chief I just saw the IR flash from our boys and I'm oriented; move forward 300 meters and go into a holding pattern." The MH-6 accelerated and positioned itself 865 yards away and went into a hover as Espinoza chambered a .300 Winchester, got a sight picture, thumbed the selector from Safety down to Fire, squeezed the trigger, and launched the bullet out of the rifled barrel giving the bullet a spin effect. Before the round punched a hole through the aggressors' sternum and seconds after the expert rifleman recovered from the recoil, he fired a second bullet targeted at the second aggressors' upper body. His heart was thumping, his saliva glands were on vacation- causing his mouth to become arid but he was relaxed, his only concern was predicting the mild dips and rises the helicopter encountered but he managed to adapt and overcome to the situation.  
  
After their second comrade fell to the ground the assailants realized they were in direct harm and started to search for cover as a third member was violently thrown to the ground by a high velocity bullet; Espinoza targeted a fourth victim but as he was about to fire his weapon a call or more like a yell to "Check Fire" exploded into his left headphone just as he saw one of the small helicopters blur through his high-powered scope.  
  
The 29-year old- 12-year veteran was adjusting his helmet when an eager voice crackled into his headset, "Knight 3-Lead, this is Rook 3-6 we're 53 seconds inbound, over." "Roger that, 3-6." Gunnery Sergeant Alvarez, relieved, made eye contact with Gunny Kochavi and grabbed one of his shoulder straps, "Kooch, I want you out on the first bird with the package and take one of your guys." He then adjusted the microphone boom in front of his mouth, "OK ladies, 3-6 is coming in for the package so lets look sharp."  
  
As Chief Warrant Officer Steinback brought the Little Bird around the building he could see the operators distributed along the rooftop. He reduced the collective and put the egg shaped helicopter into a hover and looked to his right to see two combat-clad Marines approach the flying machine carrying what looked like a body, followed by what was probably a prisoner escorted by a third combatant. Steinback sensed something was wrong since the plan called for a three-man package and what he was seeing was clearly not adding up. He was startled by a hand tapping him on his left shoulder and turned to see Gunny Kochavi. "What happened," questioned the Army aviator from the 160th SOAR(A). "Don't worry, just uhm. just a lighter load Chief but we're ready to go." No further explanation was needed it was evident something had gone wrong, his primary concern now was to get the package and operatives back to the airstrip. The dead lieutenant and the Israeli had been crammed into the diminutive rear compartment while Kochavi and McCormick rode out on the benches.  
  
Rook 3-5 executed the exact landing procedure as 3-6, except it recovered Aston, Singer, Summers, and Smith. Peters was crouched in the doorframe with his carbine trained on the hostile rooftop when his handset began to crackle in an organized pattern that he immediately recognized as Morse code, Bishop 030 was calling. The communications specialist brought the handset to his free ear and waited until 030 finished relaying their request to go to voice before he hailed them. "Knight 3 to Bishop 030, go ahead we are sound secure over." "Knight 3 be advised greeting message inbound, one mike with thirty, comeback over." "Confirmed message inbound," he placed the handset and pressured his LocalNet PTT and chirped into the boom, "Gunny the artillery is one minute out." "Right, 3-7 is coming in now."  
  
Gunnery Sergeant Alvarez and Sergeant Peters were the only remaining operators on the target buildings roof, they were now more vigilant than ever because their air support had just flared and gone into a hover, rendering its human weapons platform inoperable. Operating off of instincts, Peters double-timed to the helo and after he was on, his team leader made his way to the bird and was pulled up by Staff Sergeant Espinoza as Chief Warrant Officer Bristole urged the little helicopter off the ground before Alvarez had a secure footing. Once his safety line was hooked onto his waist belt he turned to the pilot, "Hey Army, Fuck You," he verbally expressed and physically designated with his middle finger. Bristole, also an opinionated man shared his personal feelings for the operator, "Piss Off Jarhead!" The exchange ended as a barrage of explosions erupted behind them, transforming the target building into rubble as well as destroying several other targets. They faced each other again grinning from ear to ear knowing and promising the other a round of the finest brew on tap from the local dive. Brothers-at-Arms. 


End file.
